


My Love is Vengeance

by FrecklesOfTheSeasons



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angels, Angst, Apocalypse, Armageddon, Battle, Blood, Changbin is heir to the throne of hell, Changbin is in love with life, Crying, Death, Demon Seo Changbin, Demons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Felix is the archangel Michael's replacement, Forbidden Love, Heaven & Hell, Heaven vs Hell, Like lots of it, M/M, Mentions of the Bible, Minor Character Death, Protect Changbin I beg you, Religious References, Sins, Soft Seo Changbin, Speech is kind of old fashioned?, Violence, angel lee felix, as in, idk man its completely altering my vocabulary at this point, protective lee felix, romeo and juliet esque, the son of satan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-03-10 01:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18928138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrecklesOfTheSeasons/pseuds/FrecklesOfTheSeasons
Summary: “Long ago,” He says, putting on his best attempt at a royal voice. “Long ago, there was a purge. A false apocalypse, if you will. The corners of the Earth He held so dear erupted with our kind with the escape of one of the four horsemen. His title, Famine. His true name, unable to be spoken by the human mouth, for fear of bringing bad luck upon their peoples. For years, the world suffered greatly, in the true chaos that our kind brought and thrived in.“Our strength grew in numbers with the easy corruption of the human mind, the sin that already lied there. We prospered, harvesting souls and the like to feed our own, after so many years of going hungry. But the heavens found our acts disgusting, sinful, and so with a single strike, He blinded us with light, and we were Sent back to whence we came.But our time draws near. The planets will soon align so that a rift opens, and He will be freed once more from the depths of hell.”The tutor raises an eyebrow.“And who is He, Changbin?” Eyes flash gold at the edges of his vision. He swallows.“He is my father.”





	1. Hellscape

**Author's Note:**

> Find the playlist for this fic here: https://open.spotify.com/user/emeraldsplash39/playlist/5BGp2KZhokMTITMRXUqxdY?si=Ck6cspAnS8K9uarEJpc17w
> 
> More songs to be added!

Changbin has this memory, one he's not supposed to have, of his days as a child, or as close to one as he could be, and it floats around his head like the souls of the forgotten that dwell halfway in and out of reality, one foot on the earth, planted so firmly that they can't leave, the other caught in what Changbin calls home, a deathly grip around bony ankles, so tight they can't bear to stay. Romanticization aside, it doesn't leave his thoughts, waking, or as close as he can call sleep. There, he dreams. It goes like this.

 

_He's only about a hundred years old the first time it happens, and it's the only one he can remember, despite knowing it's happened many times before. He'd been foolish, a child, horns stubby enough to be hidden in a head of unruly charcoal black hair, teeth not quite sharp yet. He looked as close to human as he could get. He supposes he'd abused that knowledge to escape the screams of the underworld, with no fear of being discovered. In a black tunic, with tiny hands and short fingers and a burst of black smoke, he was out before anyone could stop him._

 

_He must have transported somewhere unreachable to those of lower power, though they weren't by much. As he blinked dark lashes and looked around, he found himself in a world full of color, rich and unimaginable. He could hardly come to describe the textures and the smells and the sights-_

 

_There was this flower, white and pure and small, and without a second thought, Changbin picked it. A foolish mistake, on his part. Within seconds, the white petals turned to ash, stem disintegrating in his tight grasp. His little mouth dropped open, barely there fangs invisible to the naked eye. His palm opened, and where the dainty plant had been before was nothing left._

 

_“You killed it.” A voice said, and Changbin had turned around, the fabric of his tunic shifting dramatically as he did so, a fabled breeze tousling his hair. If the voice wasn't heaven personified, Changbin was sure that the owner had to be._

 

_His hair was blonde, his eyes a deep brown, and light poured from his very heart like he was the sun itself, blinding Changbin's little dark eyes for a moment. He looked not much older than Changbin himself, but Changbin couldn't be sure. The boy had raised an eyebrow, light steadily pulsing from him and his own white tunic shifting._

 

_“What kind of human are you?”_

 

_Changbin was certain then. This boy was an angel. Someone he would be taught and conditioned to hate, on the pure principle of his father's wrongdoings, brainwashed to believe him in an instant._

 

_“I am not human.” He had said, innocently, and he should have regretted it, but he didn't. The angel boy tilted his head to the side._

 

_“Then what are you?” He asked, confused. “Surely you're not an angel, are you? The strangest angel I've ever seen…”_

 

_Changbin felt something foreign in his chest, something warm. An angel. He wished he was an angel._

 

_“No,” His cheeks heated up, flushed pink, bashful. “Nor that.”_

 

_“Then what could you be?” The angel stepped closer, and Changbin basked in his warmth, a rare feature in the pits of hell, more accustomed to raging hellfires burning his skin. “You're far too pretty to be a demon.”_

 

_Again, Changbin felt warm. His eyes closed, hands covering his face. Light bathed him as fingers smaller than his own encased his wrists, pulling them away. He looked into the angel's eyes and saw as close to heaven as he'd ever reach._

 

_“I'm whatever you want me to be.” He'd said breathlessly, words leaving his lips without a second thought._

 

_The angel had gazed at him as if deep in thought, before his eyes flitted down to look at their hands. His light was slowly fading, his fingers greying at the tips. He'd let go like Changbin had burned him. Changbin wouldn't be surprised if he had._

 

_“Whatever you are,” The blonde had said, watching light fill his skin again. “Life doesn't seem to like you.”_

 

_Changbin frowned, pouting. He looked at his own hands, chubby and small but altogether rather normal, and fisted them in the fabric of his tunic._

 

_“That's okay.” The angel smiled softly. “I'm not alive, and I like you.”_

 

_It was the first and last time they had ever seen each other, that Changbin could remember._

 

Back in the present, he sighs. His chin rests on his hand, his unreasonably sharp fingernails- claws, more like- curling into a fist.

 

“Seo Changbin, have you been paying attention to me at all for the past hour?” The voice cuts sharply through the hot air of the royal study room and Changbin looks up to see no one but his own tutor standing over him, eyes glowing gold with anger. He sighs again.

 

“Yes, I have.” And it's true, because distracted by thoughts of the angel as he has been, he still has good enough hearing to catch on to the present lesson.

 

“Go on then,” His tutor says stiffly. “Repeat back to me a summary of what this lesson has been about.”

 

Changbin sighs again, scratching at one of the twisted horns on his head, (ugly things, gifted from an ugly realm), and leans forward, gripping his quill in his hand. It's a valuable one, made from an angel feather, and although it doesn't do him any physical harm, it does cause his stomach and his heart to lurch sharply, the fear inside him growing, the idea that it came from an angel-

 

They're prized possessions, angel feathers, but Changbin can't bear to look at them himself, knowing the pain the holy beings must have suffered. He shakes his head.

 

“Long ago,” He says, putting on his best attempt at a royal voice. “Long ago, there was a purge. A false apocalypse, if you will. The corners of the Earth He held so dear erupted with our kind with the escape of one of the four horsemen. His title, Famine. His true name, unable to be spoken by the human mouth, for fear of bringing bad luck upon their peoples. For years, the world suffered greatly, in the true chaos that our kind brought and thrived in.

 

“Our strength grew in numbers with the easy corruption of the human mind, the sin that already lied there. We prospered, harvesting souls and the like to feed our own, after so many years of going hungry. But the heavens found our acts disgusting, sinful, and so with a single strike, He blinded us with light, and we were Sent back to whence we came.

 

But our time draws near. The planets will soon align so that a rift opens, and He will be freed once more from the depths of hell.”

 

The tutor raises an eyebrow.

 

“And who is He, Changbin?” Eyes flash gold at the edges of his vision. He swallows.

 

“He is my father.” He says lowly, pretending to be proud, and he hates it. He wants this lesson to be over, for he can already feel a shift in the air, the waning of several moons as gravity begins to lock everything into place. The tutor seems to notice, too, turning around sharply, and Changbin can see burns on his back where he's sure there were once wings.

 

“Very well.” His voice is clipped, as if he's in a hurry. “You may go, I have business to attend to.”

 

 _So do I._ Changbin thinks, but he doesn't give himself away. He leaves when he has the chance and hates that he must eventually go back.

 

It's been quite a time since he's set foot on Earth, and the feeling he gets when he does is nothing short of relief. Without the heat of hellfire on his skin, he feels cold, but it's welcome. His black cloak swirls around him in folds and gives him a dramatic appearance. He tsks, but huddles into it anyway.

 

The rift he's found leads to an abandoned temple, and he supposes it must be pagan, for there is no holy light surrounding it. Not that he would be able to see it. It's more of a feeling, a ripple of warmth. Most of his kind say it burns, that it's killed, but Changbin has felt that warmth before, and he had returned unscathed. His hands twitch at his sides, aching for that warmth. But this will do.

 

He takes a seat opposite from the rift, his interest piqued in a small toadstool, flashy and poisonous, most definitely. He has the sudden urge to eat it, and thinks to himself that it most certainly isn't only humans who carry around that same foolishness. But no harm will come to him anyway, so he has no reason to fear his own impulsivity. He unearths the mushroom with two pointed claws and lifts it into the air, scrutinizing. Then he pops it into his mouth. He fears not death, because, well, he's met the horseman before, in passing, and he's not exactly on the being's blacklist quite yet.

 

Just as everything else, it turns to ash in his mouth, because as a spawn of hell, it is in his nature to eat nothing but souls of sinners that are served upon his dinner table with unholy wear. He sits down on the earth and lifts off his boots, lined with gold and heavy as such, though he's grown used to it by now. He flexes his toes in the grass and watches it begin to die. It's a slow process, saddening, watching as it greys and blackens to char around him. Eventually, he closes his eyes, so as not to see the death he causes anymore.

 

The darkness in his heart seems to go vacant for once as he enjoys this peace, or if his destruction of all life held dear can be called as such. When he opens his eyes again, the dark has spread a few feet away from his form, and a human is looking at him straight in the eye. He doesn't jump, he's too dignified from centuries of training. He only blinks. The human makes an inquisitive noise and steps closer. Changbin puts up a clawed hand to call for a halt. The human stops in its tracks, never once cowering, only curious.

 

“Do not come closer.” Changbin says in his natural growl. “I will hurt you.”

 

It's not meant as a threat, but it could be taken as such. Though not by this human, it seems. It tilts its head, dark hair falling forward.

 

“Are you a god?” It asks, and Changbin's eyes widen with the realization that this is a pagan. He huffs amusedly, lowering his hand.

 

“No,” He laughs dryly, voice rough. “No, and if I were to say so, He would surely strike me down, and all my kind's efforts would be for naught.”

 

It would be an easy fix, but he's not sure he would even die, nor does he want to before he sees, well, him again. The human blinks, unknowing.

 

“I am Jaehyun.” It says, and Changbin takes into account that this human is male. “May I speak with you, to find guidance?”

 

Changbin shakes his head, a bitter smile on his lips.

 

“I am not here to corrupt you,” He says, voice tight. “And you must be on your way. I am already killing you as it is.”

 

The human male looks at his own skin, how veins of black run along his hands.

 

“Am I cursed?” He asks, unbothered.

 

“Yes and no.” Changbin sighs. “If you leave now, and seek guidance at a temple of God, you will be returned to your previous state. Please do so, as I would not like you to suffer any longer.”

 

“And what if I am to stay?” Jaehyun sits at Changbin's bare feet and traces symbols into the charred ground. Changbin sighs again.

 

“Then you shall surely die.” He says, staring into the human's eyes. “And if I had one, my heart would break for you. Please leave now, and find the light.”

 

The human blinks.

 

“You are far too pretty to be a killer.” It chirps, cheerful despite the growing blackness on its limbs. Changbin looks at himself, at his jagged claws and at the knowledge of where his horns twist into the sky. He thinks this can hardly be called beautiful.

 

“Do not be fooled by my appearance,” He says tiredly. “And go. I will not have another innocent's death on my hands.”

 

There are stains on Changbin's hands that he can't see, but he knows are there, bloodstains turned black with age and decay, and there are too many of them, far too many, for a creature of such a young age. The human looks him over, and then turns away.

 

“If I were not to follow your orders,” His voice is soft. “I would die in your hands, and you would surely take care of me well. You do not seem to be a creature of hate.”

 

Changbin snorts amusedly, shooing the human away with a few token last words.

 

“I am born of hate, and surely I cannot be a creature of love.” He thinks that if he could love, he would love this world with his whole heart. But as it is, at least it numbs the aching emptiness of where he has no soul.

  


 

 

 

 

He returns to his world at nightfall, boots packed full of dirt from the other realm, crossing over rivers of souls as if nothing is there, trailing his fingers through a once-child's hair. He holds a fondness for these souls inside him, sinners as they are, from having grown up alongside them. He's sure he knows every one of them by name, and memorizes the lists of new ones every night when he cannot sleep. That is a common occurrence, and just now, as he sits down at the table, he summons a list to his side. He grips it between his claws delicately, as if it is something precious, as he memorizes the names one by one.

 

A platter is set before him, and his stomach twists, regret and anxiety filling him quickly. This is a human soul, one he is sure should belong in the heavens. This death was caused by one of his own. He sets the list down, and as dignified as he can, he unscrews the vial and empties it down his throat. It ends in a twisted grimace on his face as usual, but he knows he can't stop.

 

He's tried before, and that hadn't ended very well. When his father had discovered that Changbin had stopped eating, refused to, he had locked his son up in a tight little space, hardly any room to breathe and with hellfire hot on his bare skin, and it hadn't gone uphill from there. He straightens his back and schools his expression into something neutral, dull, expected. His father had tortured him until there was no better option than to just eat whatever soul was thrown at his feet, and Changbin chuckles, unamused. Even his own son, he could not help but torture like the souls of the damned.

 

He doesn't shake, and he doesn't shiver. He grasps the list in his left hand once more, and leaves the vial empty on the platter. He tries not to think about the taste, and how it was pure terror, tries not to check to see if it was a soul he knew. His footsteps are silent against stone floors, and he seems to almost hover, pulling the hood of his cloak up and passing through to the cells lining the walls, rusted iron bars and chains keeping the prisoners in place.

 

It's a sad sight, really, souls so tortured and drained that they can no longer even scream, their misery extended through silent suffering. He's not meant to be here, as of now, but it's necessary to him, a daily punishment he must go through to keep himself in check. The pain in his chest strengthens with every step forward, every inch closer to that room where he had stayed, ignoring the other souls, as he cannot bear to look at them. He opens the door.

 

It's his own personal hell, every time, and while it used to be tight spaces and intense heat, it has grown to become something bigger, graver. He steps inside, and closes the heavy door behind him. A small body, wrapped in white and cloaked in pure light catches his attention. Ah, this one again. It varies, depending on Changbin's state of mind. And with the merge drawing near, the apocalypse about to begin, he cannot help but worry for someone in particular.

 

As he draws near, the figure turns around. It's the boy, the angel from his memories, and his face softens as the light catches in the child's eyes, dancing there like a candle flame. He does not make a move to step closer, no, the angel does that on his own, the freckles across his face and shoulders pulsing light at a stronger frequency than the rest of him. Changbin thinks he would gladly go blind if he got to bathe in that warmth again. The angel comes closer. Changbin knows this part, hates it, and he stiffens with the knowledge of just what is to come, as the child looks up into his dark and dreary eyes.

 

“You are far too pretty to be a demon.” He says, and Changbin speaks the words with him so that he's not sure whose voice it is, he never has been. His claws dig into his palms as he clenches his hands into fists.

 

“I'm whatever you want me to be.” He repeats the same line as usual, because he's never forgotten, can't forget. The child looks down at himself to see inky black climbing inside his veins and up his arms, his light fading with every passing second.

 

“Whatever you are,” He says, and Changbin doesn't speak this time. The angel looks up and locks gazes with Changbin, and his eyes are black and empty, drained of all light, his skin a sickly grey. “Life doesn't seem to like you.”

 

Changbin watches as the boy fades to ash and char, his body trembling, fists clenched tightly in his cloak, before he sets his jaw and leaves the room the same way he came. He will never have any relief there, it seems. He will never be the perfect heir, never live up to anyone's expectations, to heaven or hell's, to his father, or the Father, and it's tiring. He wants to sleep, and yet he can't. Not yet. If he is to torture himself one last time, it will be with knowledge. Knowing this, he sets off again, down stone halls and iron cells and tortured screams.

  
  


The library is a silent place, heavy tomes with ancient scrawl open to preferred pages, rows and rows of books of the fallen, artifacts that are not to be touched. But he isn’t here for those. No, as he finds his way to the restricted area, where no one is meant to go, least of all Changbin himself, he is already set on one particular writing. His boots click on the stone floors, the air dreary and cold despite being lit by lanterns full of hellfire. His clawed hand reaches out to search among the spines of books that he is not, by any means, supposed to read, and he plucks one from its spot gently.

 

It’s old, leather binds coming apart, the delicate pages yellowed with age and bad condition, but it’s legible still, so he opens it and begins to read. It’s written in a human language, one of the many, but he has taught himself this one, at least. He reads about life, and the tales of humans and their various feats, about plants and their uses and about art and music. He loses himself until the late hours of the night, deep in the depths of these stories, and he never wants to come back out, to return to his normal, dreary, dull state.

 

He ponders over angels and their origins, at the fates they met when faced with his own kind. His jaw clenches. He has no way of knowing, truly, if his angel is still alive. The quill in his room that he loathes to touch, the spread of two wings preserved in a glass case not far from where he stands, any of these could belong to the boy, though Changbin had never seen his wings for what they truly were. No, just the light pouring from his very soul, which he himself had almost corrupted with a single touch.

 

He stays there a little longer, back straight as taught to him through various lessons, head tilted down slightly to read. Knowledge that he previously had not had filters gently through his head, a steady hum leaving his lips as he learns of the things his people are meant to corrupt, to kill. He cannot imagine to do so, though he’s done it before, if not on accident. It echoes through the library, a sad, solitary song, and it calls to him the souls that are bid to roam freely. They hover by his side as he flips gently through fragile pages, whisper things to each other in awe. Changbin chuckles mirthlessly, the sound dry and cutting through his song.

 

“I can hear you, you know,” He says to the wandering souls. “Your whispering is for naught, I am already knowing of the secrets you try to keep. Come then, speak to me as you do each other.”

 

A soul floats forward, shapeless, just a dim wisp of light, lit green in the glow of Changbin’s own hellfire lantern. He beckons it closer, not looking, knowing that such beings are shy about their state and the words they must come to speak.

 

 _“You are sad.”_ The soul says mournfully, coming closer, a lone wisp brushing back the hair that has fallen into Changbin’s eyes. _“We have come to care for you.”_

 

Changbin just shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

“This is not a place of joy,” He murmurs, flipping another page. “I am always sad.”

 

The souls make a collective cooing noise, and he rolls his eyes. They float around him, fixing his clothes and stroking his hands and horns and he sighs exasperatedly.

 

“I am no longer a child,” He chides them. “You mustn’t feel the need to treat me so.”

 

He is hundreds of years old by now, somewhere around his sixth century, but the souls never stop coddling him, as if he were still just a spawn in no one’s care but their own, as they had taken to treating him. He’s thankful, in a way, for their company through the years, for if he had not had them, he would have nobody. Where in the absence of his own mother, they had taken him as their own, longing for the feeling of love and physical touch, and though he cannot love them back, Changbin admires their determination. What they wish for, he is not, but he will humor them for now.

 

 _“You must come to us when you are sad.”_ Another soul says, and Changbin looks up at them at last, raising an eyebrow. _“We hate to see you suffer.”_

 

He sighs again, eyes dropping back down to the pages in his lap. He has forgotten his place. Shutting the book carefully, and setting it back where it belongs, he rises to his feet, facing the wisps with relaxed posture and as close to a smile as he can conjure.

 

“Do not put my suffering over your own.” He says, gently. “You cannot help me, please do not hurt yourselves trying.”

 

With that, Changbin turns away, retracing his steps to the exit of the library and blowing out his lantern. He knows his way well, even in the dark.

 

“Goodnight,” He calls behind him, and the souls murmur wishes of their own.

 

 

 

 

  


Ironically, it’s a Sunday when they meet again, a holy day for holy practices, and here he is, at the foot of a temple, humming a tune he’s heard humans sing before. He thinks it must be a hymn, a prayer of some kind, but he enjoys it nonetheless. He flips through another book, this one not found in their library, poring excitedly over boundless knowledge. It’s then that he feels something sharp against his throat. His humming ceases. There is silence, and a presence behind him.

 

“Hello,” He murmurs, and gets no response. “What can I do for you?”

 

The blade against his throat shifts.

 

“Do not say another word,” The voice is deep, but full of holy light, and Changbin smiles. “Or I surely will not hesitate to kill you.”

His humming starts up again, and he resumes reading.

 

“Is it you?” He asks. “Have you come for me yet again?”

 

The angel falters behind him, but Changbin does not try to escape, and the sharp point of a blade is back at his throat in no time.

 

“I do not know what nonsense spews from your lips,” His angel says. “Keep them quiet, and we can do this the easy way.”

 

Changbin’s body shakes with silent laughter, and tears of joy fill his eyes. He lifts them to the sky.

 

“It is you.” He says happily. “You must not remember, but we have met once before.”

 

The blade lowers, and the presence shifts to his front. In an instant, he is there, the angel, in all his glory, blonde hair and tanned skin, golden freckles glowing, just like the rest of him. His wings do not manifest behind him.

 

“Who are you?” The boy asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously. _“What_ are you?”

 

Changbin smiles softly at him, eyes fond.

 

“I am whatever you want me to be.” He repeats the words with such conviction, as he has practiced to his nightmares many times before.

 

The angel's eyes widen a fraction, and something flickers there before it's gone. Changbin sets his book down, the gentle smile still on his face.

 

“Seo Changbin,” He says, with a tilt of his head. “Hellspawn. You?”

 

He watches the angel mouth his name before he seems to realize who he's talking to. The blade is pointed at his throat again.

 

“You. You're the son of Lucifer.” His eyes narrow, soft brown flecked with gold. “What are you doing at a human civilization?”

 

Changbin looks around at his surroundings, the broken marble columns of the temple, the char where green glass has burned beneath his curse. He sighs.

 

“I like humans,” He admits, meeting eyes with the angel again. “They intrigue me.”

 

The smile plays on his lips again, and the angel huffs.

 

“You like to corrupt them?” He asks, sharply. “To take their innocent souls and turn them bad?”

 

Changbin blinks, because, no, that wasn't what he had meant at all.

 

“No,” The hellspawn says, kneeling at the ground and tracing circles into the charred dirt. “No, not that. They seem to live differently from my people, I'm sure from yours as well.”

 

The angel flinches.

 

“Do not compare our kind,” He spits. “You are low, sin, and I am a creature of God.”

 

Changbin's head tilts to the side, his claws stopping in their tracks where he's doodled something in a human language.

 

“You are right,” He says, unhurt, expecting. “I am nowhere near to anything holy. My very existence is a sin.”

 

Brown eyes widen and stare back at him. The boy in front of him looks surprised that Changbin isn't insulted. Changbin traces one of his horns with a claw, feeling its shape and looking the angel in his eyes.

 

“I am ugly.” He admits, right off the bat. “But I like to find beauty within the small things.”

 

The angel watches him carefully for a moment before his mouth opens.

 

“You are very strange, for a creature of hell.” He says, lowering his blade. “I thought you were all the same.”

 

Changbin smiles again.

 

“Do not misunderstand,” He keeps his voice light. “I am not good. But I like to think I'm different.”

 

The angel's eyes are on him again, curious, warm brown where Changbin's are pitch black.

 

“You smile far too much for a hellspawn.” His lips droop into a slight frown. Changbin's quirk upwards.

 

“You look far too unhappy for an angel.” He says it softly, almost in question. “Where has your smile gone?”

 

Blonde hair shifts and so does the light around him, the fabric of his tunic bunching at his right hip. He stays in his place, his blade pointed at the ground.

 

“How am I to know that you won't hurt me?” The angel asks, eyes narrowed, blonde lashes against his freckled cheeks. He makes for a vision of beauty.

 

Changbin tilts his head again, a habit of his, seemingly, and his eyes trace softly over the features of the angel's face.

 

“You can't.” He says, quiet. “I surely will. If you have noticed, everything I touch, I kill. You will be no different if you stay.”

 

There's a moment of silence in which the angel calculates whether or not to trust Changbin. The hellspawn cannot help but to hope for the latter. He's pleasantly surprised when instead of vanishing, or outright stabbing him through the heart, the boy sits beside him. His feet are clad in sandals made of gold, twining around his ankles and in a band just over his toes to keep them in place, and they kick at the dirt distractedly.

 

“Lee Felix.” He speaks, after a few more seconds. “I can only suppose you do not know who I am.”

 

Changbin nods, his hair drooping into his eyes. He pushes it back with a clawed hand.

 

“News does not travel very fast in hell,” He murmurs. “Especially one from whom secrets are kept.”

 

A flower wilts a few yards away. Changbin gets to his feet as the angel watches in confusion.

 

“I have stayed far too long where I am not meant to,” He says in explanation. His lips turn down at the corners, just a slight movement. “Maybe we will meet again, in time.”

 

Without waiting for a response, he turns away, for one last look, and he knows he would not be able to leave. He steps through the realms, and back to his own world, and his shoulders droop. His eyes flicker up and down the dreary stone walls and the winding path that he knows leads to the very river he must cross.

 

He wonders how many souls have joined today, however many against their will, he wonders if he will see any new faces. As he walks, and he does it slowly, his fingers reach out to trace along the cold rock of the clumsily carved halls, no doubt the work of the first tortured souls kept from heaven. He sighs.

 

He's a hateful creature, and his home is what he hates most of all. He passes through the river gently, feeling the slow caress of souls upon what little skin he shows, hears their whispers, and thinks that these are his only friends. It's a sad thought, but Changbin is meant to not be happy, so he welcomes it for what it is.

 

He wishes he could disappear, wishes he could be something else, anything but this. But he is the son of Lucifer, and in hell, no one but the devil's own wishes come true.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There's another shift. The many worlds of the universe open to their own hells. Still, the Earth stays peaceful, revolving around heaven and only that, ignorant of the turmoil above and below. There has been an increase in demon deaths as the heavens panic, the air thick with the tension of the near apocalypse. Changbin keeps himself quiet, though he knows how soon he is to being sold to the crown of hell, the duties of a corrupted king, his father's son. He sighs a deep breath and grips his quill in his hand. This one is different.

 

In his free time, Changbin would never use an angel feather quill. As he does in his studies, his memories flit back to Felix and the holy light around him, and guilt seeps into his very being, and he feels sorrowful. Who died to be used as a means to write curses upon the living? Too many. He thinks back to the archangel wings encased in glass in the library and shudders. No, this is just a pen. A human one, meant to be used with ink. Changbin uses that, instead of the normal blood of the few sacrificed souls to the Devil.

 

If he had a heart, it would thump steadily in his chest, for as the halls around him echo with screams and the panicked voices of demons all around, Changbin stays calm. He finishes up his work, in natural ink, and walks down the halls he'd just spoken of in his own mind. He has one destination in mind, and he has to be careful in reaching it. Normally, no one pays him any mind. Now, however, with the nearing apocalypse at hand, and his coronation just around the corner, all eyes are on him. He slips quietly through the passageways known only to him and the poor, tortured souls, who have nothing to do except find new ways for him to get around.

 

_“Why do you love the Earth so much?”_

 

A childish soul had once asked him, despite the scolding it had gotten by the others that seem to follow him around. And Changbin had answered the question truthfully.

 

“It is everything I want, and cannot have. It is beautiful.” His voice causes a certain sorrow in the air around him. It always has.

 

But now, as he walks quietly to the new ripple in the air, he finds himself feeling something close to happy. He knows it's dangerous, improbable perhaps, but his chest is aching with the anticipation of seeing his angel again. He tries not to get his hopes up. And yet, as he steps through the shift in several universes, he knows it is too late. He has returned to the temple he'd come to before, and life has returned to its ground. How long has it been in human time? Maybe something else brought back the life he had destroyed only by being in its presence.

 

The holiness has been restored where he had tainted it with his own twisted soul. He retraces his footsteps to the foot of the temple, the place he had sat on before. His cloak billows around and behind him, nearly a cloud of darkness. He feels the life around him begin to die. As he reaches his destination he halts in place, stiffening. In the place he'd once sat,

is a book. One he's never seen before. Its leather bindings seem new, unscathed. As he scans the front of the cover, his shoulders droop. In gold writing, is the phrase 'Bible’. His frame shakes as he chuckles with the smallest of laughter.

 

“Why do you laugh?” A voice comes from behind him, radiating light with the words it speaks. “Is the Word of God funny to you?”

 

It's almost pouty, and as Changbin turns around, a smile stretches across his face. His hand burns where he holds the book, the skin slowly blistering.

 

“I can't read this,” He says, still smiling, and Felix frowns.

 

“Why not?” He asks. “Are you so focused on staying sinful?”

 

Changbin lets out a breathless laugh, and the angel's eyes widen a fraction. His lips twitch.

 

“Look,” Changbin hands the book back, and Felix's eyes fall to his burnt and blistering hand. He gasps.

 

“I thought they were only rumors,” He says, frowning deeper. Changbin grins.

 

“You are very naive for an angel,” The hellspawn speaks, only truthful, but a soft smile upon his face. Felix huffs.

 

“And you are not, for a spawn of hell?” He pouts, crossing his arm, Bible in hand. Changbin shakes his head.

 

“No,” He says quietly. “No. I know what I am, and I know what I am borne to do.” He smiles again, nearly painful.

 

“I am meant only for chaos and destruction.” Changbin sighs, looking around him. “This Earth is not equipped for my presence. Even now, everything around me dies.”

 

Felix blinks at him, silent. His head tilts to the side, his blonde hair falling forward into his eyes. The halo of light around him only strengthens.

 

“I am not dying,” He speaks slowly. “If I stay by your side, will I?”

 

Changbin smiles bitterly.

 

“Even you,” He says. “Even you would fade.”

 

They stand in silence, for everything that needs to be said has been. It's a wave of calm and peace that washes over them, and they stand there, an angel and a creature of hell, and the world stops. Abruptly, there is another shift. The ground begins to crack. Changbin glances around quickly and then back towards Felix.

 

“You must go,” He says urgently. “For I have been discovered. Leave now, before you are killed.”

 

The angel hesitates for a moment, his eyes locked on Changbin, and then he disappears in a flash of light. And Changbin, Changbin awaits his own doom. He remembers the Room, and he shudders, a shiver running down his spine. He grits his teeth and squares his shoulders. He prepares himself for the worst. The earth cracks some more, and a tendril of smoke arises from the break. Changbin narrows his eyes.

 

 _“What_ do you think you're doing here?” A hiss and spit of flames come from the depths of hell itself. Changbin's tutor stands before him, arms crossed across his chest. Despite his trembling fingers, the hellspawn stands proud, horns gleaming in the light.

 

“I am free to travel where I wish, am I not?” He asks sharply, and his tutor flinches.

 

“That applies only to the maps of hell-” He begins, and Changbin cuts him off.

 

“I am the son of Lucifer.” He spits, eyes flashing pure black. “I will go where I please, and you will not stop me. You are a mere fallen angel, and I am a true spawn of hell. You are miles below me. Your own wings were burnt off of your being for your sins. Have some respect for those above you.”

 

The words hurt him as the leave his lips, a dull ache in his chest. Not once has he wished such a fate upon others, and it pains him to use such harsh behavior on someone for his own gain. It does its job. His tutor deflates.

 

“Come,” He says, posture slumped forwards. Regret pulses through Changbin's very being. There's something sorrowful in the fallen angel's words. “You are wanted at home.”

 

Changbin despises to call that pit of fire home. Still, he heeds its call, stepping back through the rift. His dirt packed boots make thudding noises against the stone floors. He has plans for that dirt, awaiting in his room, though no one knows or can know about something like that. Only he is allowed in his quarters, and for that, he his thankful.

 

In the present, gentle souls caress his tanned skin with soft touches, as his tutor watches on in disgust.

 

“Why must you associate with such things?” He asks, snobbishly. “They are not even worthy of becoming demons.”

 

Changbin looks around at the green wisps circling him, at the only family he has ever known, and he smiles.

 

“They are worthier than any of us,” He murmurs. “In ways we cannot know.”

  
  
  


 

 

 

 

The halls are dim. The hellfire lanterns have yet to be lit, and there’s a sense of eeriness in the air. Changbin takes a deep breath, and makes his way to the throne room. His footsteps are heavy, weighed down by hidden anxiety and clear anticipation. There’s a shift, a ripple in the many dimensions; hell, heaven, and the inbetween, the Earth he’s come to love so dearly. As much as a creature of hell can love. He distracts himself with pleasant thoughts, of life and the living, of the pure warmth of the sun. It is nothing like the scorching heat of the Room.

 

As the heavy iron doors of the throne room swing open, he holds his breath. His father will not be there, he is sure. He never is. No, in his place, though not seated for fear of punishment, is someone far less threatening. The demon has red eyes, no pupils to be seen, and Changbin is grateful that he can disguise himself at the very least, to not look so ugly.

 

“My lord,” He says, and Changbin winces. No matter how often he tries to get rid of that title, it sticks to him like the horns upon his head. Those, he will never be able to get rid of. “The time has come.”

 

Changbin stiffens. He feels it, now, the severity of the rip in space and time, torn apart as the final planets shift into place. It is time.  

 

“Say the word,” The demon, his father’s most trusted, tells him. “And we shall follow.”

 

His people are free to wreak havoc on the world.

 

Armageddon has arrived.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He finds himself on the front lines. There’s fire, the kind he’s used to, scorching heat against his skin, smoke in the air. His lungs feed on it as if it were oxygen. He looks around helplessly. The life he cherishes so much is dying, demons crawling from the pits of hell, hands breaking through cracks in the earth. His cloak billows around him, his face set in a grim expression. He looks like a true knight of hell.

 

The flames flicker, orange light dancing around the charcoal of his horns. He breathes in the smoke, and walks forward. He is his father’s son. Anywhere he goes, death will follow. He can see them now, the corpses of unlucky humans scattered across the ground in heaps, and his stomach lurches. He swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. He keeps walking. Behind him, more demons pull forth from the earth, hissing and laughing and screeching, ugly noises that do not belong in this world.

 

He looks up to the sky, clouded with gray, the sun peeking through, pure red from the fire, and for the first time in his long, long life, Changbin prays. He prays for someone to stop this, to stop him. He feels his skin burning at the thoughts, his very being against anything holy. There’s a flash of light, and he stops walking. He whips around, his hair and cloak blowing in the wind, his face painted red with the light of the fires around him. Time slows.

 

Standing there, in front of him, bathed in white light and gilded with gold, is his angel, his blade drawn. Felix’s eyes are narrowed, his golden freckles stark against his skin, flashing with light. When they see Changbin, they widen. His lips part. Changbin looks on pleadingly.

 

“It was you,” Felix whispers, but it sounds loud, even over the screams of pain and even joy, the crackling of the flames. “I heard someone pray. I never would have thought it was a spawn of Lucifer himself.”

 

“I’m full of surprises.” Changbin says, surveying the scene.

 

“So it would seem.” The angel looks around nervously. “You’ve summoned me into a flood of demons. What would you propose I do now?”

 

Changbin’s eyes flit back to Felix’s face.

 

“Help me,” He pleads. “Help me stop this.”

 

The angel stares at him for a moment.

 

“You helped me once,” He shifts so that his blade is raised. “I will follow the word of the Lord and return the favor, just this once.”

 

With that, Felix turns around, and drives his sword into the blackened skin of a creeping demon, its black eyes and forked tongue ready to spew evil forth. It lets out an unearthly screech and writhes as holy light fills its being, burning it away from the inside.

 

“Are you going to help?” He asks, breathlessly. “Or will you just stand there all day?”

 

Changbin presses his lips into a thin line, swallows his fear, and turns his back to the angel. Demons are rushing from all sides to destroy him, a creature so holy isolated within a horde of evil. Changbin really should have thought this through.

 

Now, though, he raises his hand, and moves it swiftly to the left, knocking down any foes, even burning some away into black puffs of smoke. Clenching his fingers into a fist, he jerks his hand down sharply, sending the creatures back down to the pits of hell with one single gesture.

 

Felix turns in time to see it, his lips parted and hair sticking to his face with sweat, the rest whipping in the wind. His white tunic is stained black with smoke and char, but he remains light and holy and pure. His face splits into a grin, and Changbin falters. It’s pure sunshine, the sunshine he cares for so deeply.

 

“What I would do for powers like those!” The angel calls, and swipes his blade up through a demon’s stomach. Changbin smiles softly and continues his movements with his hands.

 

“It is as much of a curse as you would favor it a blessing,” He says back, his voice a low, demonic growl, but his face open and soft. He feels alive, more alive than he could ever dream to be.

 

The fire roars around them, red and wild and scorching the earth. Changbin’s eyes flicker black as he whispers incantations to send the devil’s creatures back to the pits of hell from whence they came. They’re in Latin, in which he is fluent, dead as a language it may be. In this moment, it's just them. An angel and the heir of hell, together, against the world. Changbin savors it while it lasts.

 

The air is black, filled with smog and the scent of burning flesh. Corpses, demon and human alike, lie broken and burnt around the clearing, much to Changbin's dismay. He's never liked death, has even hated it, despised it with his whole being. He closes his eyes as he strikes the next wave of hellspawns down, tears ready to fall. They burn when they spill over, wetting his lashes and blurring his vision when he peels his eyelids open once more. If he had a heart, it would break upon the sight he's greeted with. As it is, a great, aching pain settles deep in his chest.

 

Everything that was once living, the trees, the wildlife, even the many humans who once lived here, they're charred beyond recognition. It is only him using his hyperactive senses that tells them what everything once was. Anger wells up in him, and he reaches into the air with one hand, calling upon the very weapon he is meant to use, though never for this purpose.

 

There's a crack in the air, like lightning, splitting the sky apart. It's red where there's no smoke, and truly, this is the apocalypse. A great scythe forms in his right hand, and he grips it tightly with clawed fingers. He'd promised himself never to use it, but now, he thinks, though perhaps blinded by his rage, he has no other choice. His left hand comes to grip the staff of the scythe at the top, just below the blade, and he swings it in a wide arc, wreaking devastation upon the lands before him.

 

Everything that once moved, the flames, the smoke, and the demons crawling from hell, they all fall still. Skin turns to ash, seemingly immortal beings slaughtered at Changbin's own hand, reduced to nothing as quick as their last breaths come to a halt. It's silent. Changbin stands, posture bent, stiff shoulders forward and hands gripping at the staff of the scythe. The tears don't stop. They are the only things that move. They drip along the bridge of his nose and off the tip of his chin, and he doesn't make a move to wipe them away.

 

Never, not in his whole life, has the son of Lucifer cried. Not even as a child, when he was burned in the Room for being too soft, not as he spent hours at a time plucking feathers from angels' wings as a punishment for refusing to write with one, never knowing if it was his own angel who had been so brutally robbed, or even killed. No, not once.

 

So now, as he stands still, as the tears fall, they don't falter. His teeth are gritted and his jaw clenched, his hands burned raw from his own power and how tightly he grips the scythe with his hands. He flinches when he feels the light, feathery touch of fingers upon his shoulder. White light invades his vision, along with the gleam of gold. Changbin turns his head just a fraction, and it's like his whole chest collapses in on itself.

 

Felix is there, eyebrows pinched together, his tunic charred and his lips parted. Changbin lets go of the scythe with one hand and swings it over his right shoulder, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. The ash on his fingers gets into his eyes, and it stings, but no more than the tears still welling up there.

 

"I have never seen a demon cry," The angel murmurs, and Changbin feels even more tears threaten to fall, at the way Felix looks at him with such awe, the softness of his voice, how the angel touches him as if he were something- something pure. His lip trembles, and he digs sharp canines into it to keep it still, tasting the iron tang of blood on his tongue. He pulls away.

 

"You mustn't touch me," He says, voice shaky. "Everything I lay a hand on, I destroy."

 

Felix blinks, glancing at his hand. It isn't tainted. He hadn't thought about it, it seems, before he touched Changbin. The hellspawn looks at him through teary lashes, face pinching at the pain in his palms and at the acrid scent of smoke and burning corpses.

 

"Besides," His voice is hoarse from the ash that floats in the air and his own tears. "I am not a demon. At this point, I cannot be called even that."

 

Though he never was proud to call himself a part of hell, his ties with his old home are now broken. He is cursed to walk the Earth he holds so dearly, and bring death with him wherever he goes. He looks Felix in the eyes, and his voice breaks when he speaks next.

 

"I am a monster."

  


 

 

 

 

 

The flames die down to small embers, flickering, smoke still high in the air and wafting into Changbin's lungs. He stares at his boot clad feet, at the charred dirt and ash between them. Beside him, Felix sits on the ground, despite the ash dirtying his white tunic.

 

"It'll wash." He says, scratching at his button nose, his freckles ever sparkling, like the few stars Changbin has seen in his lifetime. Then he shifts some, turning to partially face Changbin. "Will you be alright, here? On your own?"

 

The hellspawn sighs, hunching in on himself. He knows Felix can't stay. The angel has far too many duties in heaven, and he's been gone long enough to raise suspicion. Changbin runs a clawed hand through his hair. Where will he go? He mustn't stick around this place longer than necessary. No, he has to leave.

 

"I will." He says, and he tries to believe it, tries to feel as confident as he sounds. "Go, then. Your favor has been repaid."

 

Felix stays by his side, watching him inquisitively. His brown eyes are warm, a contrast to the dark coal of Changbin's. Flecks of gold mark the insides of his irises, much like they do his face. He's there, and then, in an instant, and a flash of light, he's gone. Changbin knows not when he will see the angel again, or if he will at all. He does think, though, that he'd like a chance to see the boy's wings, just once.

 

As small as he thinks that chance may be, he can't bring himself to lose hope. In a life full of curses, Changbin could never think to see such a blessing. He stares at his hands, at the scythe clutched in his right, and tips his head back to look at the sky. It's red where it peeks through the billowing clouds of black smoke, the sun dipping low even though it can't be seen through the smog in the air. The sky takes on a black tint, and Changbin rises to his feet.

 

He has nothing to his name but the throne of hell that he does not want, and a broken crown upon his head. Better that, than perhaps, a perfect molde of sin for his father to manipulate. A pawn on a chess board, a black piece among endless white. And Changbin is scared. He's not against admitting it. He would have said something to Felix if he had stayed, or so he likes to believe. Maybe Changbin really is a coward, after all. He runs from his duties and he runs from the throne and from death and from everything he was ever meant to be, and still, he isn't satisfied. Still, he's afraid.

 

He shakes off these thoughts as he walks forward. There's nothing left in the clearing but ash and dust and smoke. Any buildings that once were have crumbled, any trees burned away. Changbin bites at his lip with pointed teeth until it bleeds. He takes comfort in his own pain. He doesn't have the Room anymore. No, instead, he brings his own hell with him wherever he may lead. Death upon death upon death, lives lost, light drowned out by the dark, only hellfire left to light the way.

 

He ponders, and he thinks that if death weren't to follow, he would be free. He could run as a child does through time and space and through dirt and grass, in between trees, wading through rivers as the humans might do. He could eat something other than the tortured souls of the underworld, could taste the delicacies of every creation. He could look into honeyed eyes and not worry about causing their demise. It's all wishful thinking, and Changbin has used up all his wishes today.

 

He continues to walk along the dead earth below, footsteps leaving heavy imprints of pain and sorrow. Lives were lost here, he thinks they might tell, humans and demons alike fell here, and only at his own hand. The scythe sits heavy over his shoulder. It's a weight he wishes he didn't have to carry. It's shackles too tight around his wrists and chains dragging him down, and it's his own pain at the deaths he has caused, and will in the future.

 

Where was God, he thinks. When his people needed him, where was God?

 

Earth is no place for heaven, and even less it is for hell. There should be happiness here. And as he looks around, Changbin sees no happiness. He feels none himself. How could he? Where else has this devastation taken place? How many were killed?

 

It is he who caused this. The scythe is punishment enough, for that. His palms are raw and burnt where he overused his powers. Such curses only bring more with them, and Changbin carries them all on his shoulders. He closes his eyes, and wishes he could sink into the dirt and lie there, and forget about existing, and forget about hell and heaven and the inbetween, about the balance of the universe and the apocalypse at heaven's door. He doesn't think it will knock gently.  

 

As it is, he walks. Is he burdened to til the end of time? How long will he live? How long, before God strikes him down? He, an abomination, never to be seen by man. He knows only that he will fight until the end of time, for this world, for Felix, even for heaven, if it is so desired. A hellspawn, only doing God's bidding. He wants to laugh, but he doesn't. He cannot even hold the holiest book in his hands without being burned for the very sin of existing. His shoulders slump in exhaustion. One step after another.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He finds himself, without thinking, at the temple. The same as before. The Bible sits there, on the marble steps. Life has begun to creep back into the surrounding clearing. It's too bad that Changbin will end up being the end of it. Just by existing, he causes pain. Changbin wishes he didn't exist. Without him, there would be no shift. There would be no apocalypse. The alignment of the universe would be nothing more than an astronomical feat, and life would carry on.

 

With Changbin alive, nothing good can survive, not now. He can only fight for what's right and hope he gets killed in the process. He doesn't even know if he can die. He sits on the marble of the temple steps, and takes the Bible into his hands. Not yet healed, they burn, further mutilating and becoming an ugly mess of red and pink scars. He cares not. He will read it, with pain or without.

 

A light touch on the backs of his knuckles has him flinching away. When he looks up, he finds himself face to face with someone he was sure he'd never see again. How long has it been since the battlefield? How long has he walked, how far? He looks into Felix's eyes and sees something close to pity.

 

The angel takes the book, in its leather bindings, out of Changbin's scorched hands. He sets it down on the steps beside them, and gets to his knees. His tunic is white again, pristine from the touches of heaven, perhaps. Changbin can only assume.

 

Felix takes Changbin's hands in his own, and smooths over his wounded palms with his own light. Seemingly, just as it does to everything else, the hellspawn's darkness absorbs it, sealing it inside, this time using it only heal his own flesh. Changbin looks on, surprised.

 

"While I admire your work ethic," Felix murmurs. "I do not believe hurting yourself will get you anywhere."

 

Changbin blinks full lashes at him, trusting entirely. He's tired, so tired. He's walked and he's carried his sins and his curses, and he's tried to repent and ended up nowhere. He supposes the only way to truly repent would be to die. His own existence is his greatest sin.

 

"How is it that we always end up back here?" The angel asks, softly, fingers still running over Changbin's hands, his knuckles and palms. "This is where we were, isn't it? All those years ago."

 

Changbin's lips part. His eyes widen and his hands go slack in Felix's grip. All this time, he thought only he had remembered. Maybe it was their meeting that triggered it, the memories, but Felix seems to carry them, too. He watches on in awe, gaze nearly pleading, looking into Felix's pure eyes, his open soul, white and gold and freckles and sunshine. It's different from the heat of hellfire, that he's feeling in his chest. Far different.

 

Felix's pink lips curl up into a soft smile. He gazes at Changbin fondly, until his eyes drop to their connected hands. He watches the light drain out of his skin. Then his gaze flits back up, and their eyes meet, and again, everything is still.

 

"You are far too pretty to be a demon."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy moly  
> you guys  
> this took absolutely forever to write  
> and its only the first chapter 😭  
> i hope you liked it!! thank you for reading and please leave comments and kudos, i love seeing them and they mean a lot to me!! 
> 
> twitter: @zinniachild  
> tumblr: gay-but-woah


	2. Heavensent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How could He take something so beautiful," Felix says softly. "And inflict upon it such pain?"
> 
>  
> 
> A soft breath leaves Changbin's lips.
> 
>  
> 
> "Everything happens for a reason," Breathe in, death. Breathe out, death. "I am no different."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are themes of violence in this chapter and in this whole story. There are some pretty graphic scenes, so please be careful if you're sensitive to that kind of stuff.

“You are far too pretty to be a demon.”

 

Changbin stares, mouth open, before a smile creeps onto his face. His eyes crinkle at the edges.

 

“You remember,” He says, and joy fills him, after so long of going without. Felix smiles back.

 

"A little," He admits. He sits beside Changbin on the steps and scuffs his sandals against the dirt. "Do you really kill everything you touch?"

 

Changbin's smile drops. He looks at the ground, where it's charred black around his feet, and around at the dying foliage, slowly turning a sickly, dark grey.

 

"Even if I don't touch it," He says. "It dies."

 

Felix hums.

 

"You never told me why you cried." The angel says, hesitantly. Changbin smiles a pained smile.

 

"I don't quite know myself." He sighs. "I am a weapon. I was born to be, raised to be. So why do I hate it so much?"

 

The scuffing noises stop as Felix stills his feet.

 

"If you could love," He says softly. "What would you love most?"

 

A wishful smile grows on Changbin's face, but the pain is still there, in the crease between his brows, in the darks of his eyes.

 

"Everything." He exhales. "Everything, I would love everything."

 

Felix tilts his head. His blonde hair falls into his eyes.

 

"Do you not, already?" He asks. Changbin shakes his head.

 

"I was made to hate." The hellspawn says. "I cannot love, for I do not have a heart."

 

Silence.

 

"Will you continue to fight against your kind?" Felix's voice is soft, quiet. Changbin turns, looks him the eyes.

 

"I will." He says, and he's never been more sure. "I will. Will you?"

 

"Call for me." Felix says. "When you are alone, call for me. I will help when I can."

 

Changbin nods. There's a shift in the air. Felix looks up to the sky.

 

"I must go," He murmurs, getting to his feet. "I am needed elsewhere."

 

There's a flash of light, and then he's gone. Changbin feels cold, suddenly. He stands. He, too, has places to be.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The scythe, though it no longer physically manifests beside him, weighs heavy upon his shoulders. Death itself weighs heavy upon his shoulders. His curse shackles his ankles with the tight grip of bony fingers, the lives that have been lost. Long ago, before he had realized the effect he had on life.

 

Surprisingly, it took him two hundred years. He never noticed, how death followed him wherever he might be, black crows hovering around rooftops, the cries of the innocents. He was in it for his own gain, his own curiosity. Life took his breath away, shook him upside down, intrigued him. He never seemed to realize how it vanished in his footsteps. He was merely a spawn, incapable of knowing, and still, the weight is there, in his chest, where a heart might be. Without the Room, he feeds it with his own thoughts. He misses the souls beside him, their touch. Most of all, he misses that they cannot die.

 

He looks at his hands, the blackened tips of his fingers, forever charred, for every death he causes, every death he has caused, no matter how long ago. Guilt is there, where the scythe should be. His cloak wraps around him and hides his face, hides his fears. It hides the ugly curse in him, it hides his own evil, the evil he wishes wasn't his. But he is a creature of hell, and he cannot go without.

 

Can he be considered strong? With no hope, can he be considered weak? His power is undeniable, but his hands shake when he lifts them to his face. His face seems haunted when he catches a glimpse in a river he might pass. Darkness grips him around his back, snakes around his ribs, crushes him, suffocates him. Can he be considered strong?

 

His boots thud heavy on charred dirt, hard packed, as he walks through the ruins of a nearby town. So many lives lost. He feels grief consume him. So many lives lost. Stray evil lurks around, forms too corrupted to even be called demons. Hellhounds devour the remains of human corpses. He turns them to dust with a wave of his hand. The particles float in the air like clouds of black smoke, and the scent of burning flesh is strong. It comes not from the beasts, no.

 

Hellhounds are creatures of shadow. They have not the power to physically manifest, not completely. They take on the forms of the dark and feed among the terror that surrounds death, that remains deep in the hearts of the once living. His chest is heavy. His head is heavy. Changbin is heavy.

 

He walks among the ruins, and passes charred bodies, and destroys more shadowed beings. They were once human, too. Now they are cursed to feed upon the fear of their kind, the regret of leaving a life too soon. They do not deserve such a fate. He stops beside what he assumes to be a corpse. It is small, and he kneels down beside it, and if he had a heart, it would weep. It would mourn.

 

It is a child. Its face is smudged with char, it lies limp among broken bodies. He lifts it into his arms. He hums a hymn. There's the soft rise of a tiny chest, and he nearly drops the small form from his grip. His eyes go wide. He hopes. A small, broken sound leaves dry lips.

 

The child's eyes open. They are dark, glazed over. They look at him blankly. Changbin's chest tightens, his throat squeezes shut.

 

"Are you death?" It asks, tiny voice hoarse from smoke. "Have you come to take me away?"

 

Changbin watches on with sorrow in his eyes. His lips part, and he chokes on his own words.

 

"No," He says desperately. "No, you will not die."

 

Even so, black veins creep up along the child's skin.

 

"I am ready to die." It breathes.

 

"You won't." Changbin says, but there's nothing he can do. Every moment he stays is a heartbeat taken away from this little life in his hands.

 

Changbin looks up to the sky, and curses whoever let this fate to fall upon such loving creatures, such precious lives. His hands clutch tightly at the tiny body, then loosen when a whimper of pain escapes into the air.

 

"I'm sorry," He chokes out, though he can hardly be sure that the child can hear him. Its breathing grows shallow. "I'm so sorry."

 

It begins to rain. He doesn't feel it, among the clouds of smoke and the charred scent of rubble and human flesh alike.

 

"Don't die," Changbin whispers urgently. "Don't die."

 

A hand rests gentle upon his shoulder. He doesn't turn, doesn't flinch. He knows who it is. He knows that warmth. A sob bubbles up in his throat.

 

"Let him go." That voice, heaven personified. Heaven that Changbin will never be able to see. "It's his time. Let him go."

 

Changbin holds the body resolutely. He doesn't move. The presence kneels down beside him.

 

"There's a place for him in heaven." Felix murmurs. "Let him go."

 

How did it come to this? This fragile being in his arms, set in stone, tangled in the threads of fate to die. Death sits upon Changbin's shoulders in the form of a crow, a solitary being. But crows come in numbers. Death comes in numbers. How did it come to this?

 

Changbin sighs a shaky breath. He turns his face, and looks into Felix's eyes. The angel holds his arms out.

 

"You will not have another death on your hands," He says. "I swear it."

 

Changbin doesn't want to let go. But he does. He carefully hands Felix the child, and watches as holy light envelops him, as the black creeping along his skin fades, as he becomes clean and pure. Changbin sees him become something that he, himself, never will. His chest aches, empty, and yet full, full of pain. The child sighs peacefully, and his life fades out of existence.

 

Felix lies the empty body upon the ground, a spot clear of rubble. It looks peaceful, almost as if in a deep sleep. The angel turns to Changbin and looks him in the eye.

 

"This is not, will never be your fault." He says, gently. "Please believe me when I say so."

 

Changbin nods. His hands shake at his sides. His knees hurt from the rubble on the ground, crumbled stone and rocks and hard packed dirt. The rain is wet against what skin is bared. He looks up to the sky, and his hood falls down. His horns stand proud where they are not wanted.

 

"Will he be taken care of well?" He asks, voice trembling. His whole being is shaken, every last bit, up til the heart he doesn't have. A warm hand rests upon his cold one. He turns his face.

 

Felix is glowing, and he has the softest smile on his face. He ignores the light draining from his skin, and Changbin is too startled to do anything about it.

 

"He will." The angel says. "I promise."

 

He lifts his hand, holding out his pinky finger. Changbin looks at it blankly, before he meets Felix's gaze again. He's still smiling. He moves his finger towards Changbin in a short, jerky movement.

 

"What is this?" Changbin watches Felix carefully as he nudges his pinky finger closer.

 

"Like this!" Felix places his free hand on Changbin's own, grasping at the hellspawn's pinky and lifting it to his own, then linking them together. "Pinky promise."

 

Changbin's lips part, breath coming out as a soft exhale. He curls his pinky around Felix's smaller one, and looks into the angel's eyes.

 

"Pinky promise."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Where did you go to,” Changbin asks softly, as they leave the ruins of the town. The smoke around them fades into cleaner air, charred brush changing into deep greens. “When you left?”

 

Felix hums noncommittally, swinging his hand as he walks. Changbin wants to hold it, but he’s haunted by the memories from the Room and the steady leak of light slowly fading from the angel’s skin.

 

“I had duties.” Felix says, eyebrows pinching together. “Something is happening in heaven.”

 

Changbin looks over at him, the frown marring his face, the scattered layers of freckles there. He wants to smooth it all away, wants to brush his fingers over the angel's forehead and through his hair, but his touch brings pain, and his touch brings death.

 

"What is it?" The crunch of his boots on the underbrush, the charred footsteps he leaves in their wake, speak for miles about his real being. Felix shakes his head.

 

"I do not know." He says, solemnly. "Something big."

The wind blows ominously through the trees, carrying with it the smell of char and decay.  "Something bad."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They pass upon a river, clear and quiet, a gurgling of pure spring water emerging from the earth. Changbin stares in wonder at the ripples on its surface, his clawed fingers dipping down to touch. A shocked laugh leaves his lungs and his eyes widen at the clean, cold feeling. He runs his fingers along with the current, and his lips twitch into a smile. He feels more than sees Felix sit beside him, the angel's feet now bare and dangling into the water below.

 

"You're like a child," The blonde murmurs. At Changbin's questioning glance, he continues, smiling. "You find beauty in the smallest things."

 

Changbin's head tilts to the side, a soft smile playing on his lips.

 

"I told you that," He says. "When we met, that first time. I told you that."

 

Felix nods. There's something soft in his eyes.

 

"You did."

 

It's as if a war isn't raging on beneath the surface of that same earth they sit upon, or above the skies they stay under. It's as if everything is at peace. Changbin will kill everything he lays a hand upon. He will bring with him death and plague and pestilence, will bring chaos in his wake. And yet, in this moment, the missing spot in his chest is full, and his head is calm, and there is no war here. There's a pocket in time where they can stay for a while.

 

It's hard to see past it all, sometimes, hard to look past the bigger picture of that war, and on into the smaller details. There are only so many battles that can be brought to a halt, before a new one starts. They cannot be everywhere at once, not at all, and though it aches in his chest, Changbin knows they must rest. He has never used his powers to such an extent, much less against his own kind. And Felix, Felix stays. He must have duties, he must be needed, yet he stays, stays by Changbin's side, where the demon wants him.

 

But there's something there, in him, something guarded. Changbin catches him frowning at the sky often, looking over their shoulders one too many times. He supposes it's only natural. With Armageddon on their shoulders like the neighboring crows upon tree branches, it would be odd not to feel its weight. Still, Changbin wonders. What is Felix thinking? What is happening in heaven? He could only ever hope to know.

 

The trickling noise of the river is like music to his ears. They are trained only to hear noises of pain and war and death, and he welcomes this new sound, this new song. It lessens the weight of the crushing chains of guilt around his body, the shackles around his ankles and wrists and neck. He is at peace, here.

 

Changbin wishes he had a heart. If he only had a heart, he could love, truly, and oh, how he would love. He likes to think that his love would be soft and warm, nurturing, that maybe his being wouldn't kill so much, that maybe, instead, things would grow. Changbin wishes he could love. He wishes he had a heart.

 

As it is, he lies against the thick trunk of an old tree, the bark curling and flaking away. It is dying, already, has been for many years. There's something rotten at its core. Changbin mourns for the tree. His eyes are closed, and inside him he can feel the steady thrum of life draining from around him. It, in itself, is like a song, too. It's a tragedy. And still, it lulls him into a half dormant state, his mind quiet, his thoughts still. As much as he hates it, it's in his nature.

 

Something is running through his hair. It's an unfamiliar feeling, and his face scrunches up in his sleep before relaxing again. It's soothing, in a way. He decides he likes it. He hums along with the tree's life force as it slips away. His fingers twitch on top of his chest and his eyelids flicker open. There's a rustle of fabric, and Changbin meets eyes with Felix as the angel leans back, pulling dainty hands away from his hair.

 

The blonde smiles at him, pure sunshine. Something warm wells up in Changbin's chest. It is unlike the scorching heat of hellfire, unlike the cold of the stone halls. It feels like what he pictures life would, and he loses his breath at the thought.

 

"What are you doing?" His voice comes out gravelly and hoarse, and he lifts his left hand to rub at an eye. Felix blinks down at him.

 

"Look," He says, gesturing to the water beside them. "Quick, before they die."

 

In his sleepy state, Changbin crawls toward the riverbank, peering over the edge suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. When they catch a glimpse of his reflection, though, they widen in surprise. There, threaded into his hair in a wreath, are pure white flowers, some large, others small, tangled in growth and their urge to find light. They are blackening around the edges, but the image is nice while it lasts. His face breaks into a smile.

 

"They're pretty," He murmurs. "Even though they are dying. Where did you find them?"

 

Felix nods his head in a direction to the far left, watching Changbin through careful eyes. There's something heavy settling in the hellspawn's chest.

 

"Must you go?" He asks. "So soon?"

 

Felix's face softens where it was hard around the edges.

 

"I must," He says softly. "There are duties to be done."

 

Changbin looks up at him from his spot on the banks of the river.

 

"I'll wait for you." His tone is genuine, and he hopes he can convey the meaning behind those four words. Felix only smiles.

 

"Do not," He's sunshine through a cloud of smoke. "I would not like to keep you for so long."

 

Changbin blinks, and his sunshine is gone.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He does not stay there for long. There's an itch at the base of his skull that tells him to keep moving, not to kill anymore than he already has simply by resting there, in the center of the woods. He hopes that it will heal, the spot where he had lain so peacefully. For now, he walks. As he does, death trails in his footsteps. The wilting of a flower here and there, the crackling of leaves drying and falling to the earth he cares for so deeply, they remind him of what he is, and they keep him from hoping too much. He is a creature of the dark, and where he goes, the dark will surely follow. He is the winter of a world full of seasons, dreary and cold. He longs for spring, and yet they cannot coexist together, they cannot touch fingertips. If they did, surely, spring would become winter, and winter would be alone once more.

 

Changbin does not want to be alone. He finds comfort in the lingering warmth of Felix by his side, in the memory of the angel's laughing eyes, his soft smile. He thinks of these things, and they distract him from the slow death and decay of the world around him at his feet. But he knows, oh, he knows, that if Felix should stay, he, too, would fade. Changbin does not want to see such a fate befall the angel. He has seen it before, far too many times, in the Room. It is not something he can easily forget. He shudders. From one thought to another, they grow darker. He wishes he could simply shut his mind up, but it seems to be a curse of his to always think, to never be silent.

 

He's disturbed from such thoughts as he steps into an open clearing. It's eerily quiet, the sounds of wildlife long gone, the trickle of the river far off in the distance. If he were to speak, he wonders, would it echo?

 

All at once, the earth erupts with chaos. Fire and brimstone spits forth from the ground, great cracks forming in the dirt, smoke pouring into the air. Changbin doesn't flinch. He was expecting this, at some point. He's only grateful that Felix is not around to witness it.

 

"Seo Changbin, prince, and knight, of hell, we have come to fetch you." It's the tight, controlled anger of his own tutor, and Changbin looks into his flashing, golden eyes. "Your father awaits."

 

The hellspawn shakes his head, his inverted crucifix earrings moving with him.

 

"I will not return with you," He says, and he does not sound afraid. "I will not inflict any more pain onto this Earth and its creatures."

 

Around him, wisps of shadow and smoke morph into wicked beings with crooked grins and glowing eyes of fire. They are horrid in their very being, and Changbin prides himself on the fact that he does not shake in their presence. The darkness begins to close in. It's just a slight shift of his footing, but he readies himself for the toll of a bruising fight.

 

"Changbin," His tutor seethes. "This is not a suggestion, it is an order, directly from your father. You have been free to walk this planet for far too long."

 

The heel of his boot digs into the ground, and the imprint chars the dirt.

 

"I will not return with you." He says again. "I will fight for this planet. I will fight even you for this Earth to live."

 

The shadow creatures grow in size, their forms twisting, following with their movements the sounds of creaking and cracking bones. They advance forward, even as more smoke leaves the faults in the earth below. Their eyes are red hot, and with them come hellhounds, flashing their teeth, sharpened, human bone, taken from their own victims.

 

“Then we shall make you.” His tutor growls, and raises his hand in the air. The beasts charge forward, and Changbin braces himself for impact.

 

The darkness swirls around him, and he breathes in the smoke and ash as if it were his own life force, dark ichor that floods through his veins. He lifts his hand, in a fist, to the sky, then brings it down in a swinging motion towards the ground. Some, though not all, of the smoke is swallowed up again, the cracks in the earth closing up around it, encasing it beneath its surface once more. The rest, Changbin has yet to deal with.

 

“Buer!” He calls his tutor’s name into the dark. “Stop this! I do not wish to hurt you.”

 

The fallen angel speaks not. Changbin wonders if he’s gone back to hell, the coward that he is. He spins around as a low growl sounds behind him. A hellhound approaches, enormous in size, its fangs dripping with acrid black drool, eyes narrowed to slits in its head. The sound emitting from its throat is threatening, but Changbin does not flinch. He has faced worse, before, in the Room. With a deafening crack, he summons his scythe from the shadows. He feels pity for these creatures, their souls twisted and corrupted with a single touch of hell, but he will not let them wreak their destruction any more than they already have.

 

He lays upon them the death that follows him around, just as he has with humans many times before, though always on accident. The hellhound goes first, a strangled yelp falling from its jaws as it dissipates with a single blow from the blade of the scythe, flashing silver in the red glow of hellfire. The shadows begin to close in. Still, Changbin is not afraid. His scythe is his battle cry, his strength. He is merely a host for its utter ruin.

 

“Felix!” He calls, the clouds roiling in the sky from his sheer power.

 

There’s the loud, shaking rumble of thunder, and the sky splits apart with a flash of light. In an instant, the angel is beside him, wielding his own sword, glowing holy and pure, his blonde hair whipping in the steady force of wind that has begun to build.

 

“You called,” He says, and somehow it’s loud over the incessant growling and crackle of fire around. “And I have come to you.”

 

“You have.” Changbin replies, and strikes his scythe through another beast of hell. It curls into smoke with an unearthly screech, its body twisting horrifically in its last few moments before it disappears. “For that, I am grateful.”

 

_For you, I am grateful._

 

He does not speak those words out loud. Instead, he watches as Felix plunges his sword through the heart of a demon, cracks of light spreading throughout its chest as it screams in pain. He watches the boy’s freckles stand out against the dark smoke and the lick of red fire surrounding them.

 

 _This,_ he thinks, _I will fight for, too._

 

Sweat drips in slow beads from his brow, hot from the flames and the exertion of battle. His hands grip tightly at the base of his scythe. He swings it forward, sending the sharpened blade directly into a demon’s skull, a sickening crack reverberating in his own. He grits his teeth against the pain he feels in his chest as he kills again, and again, and again. He searches through the clouds of ash and smoke for the face of his tutor, though he doesn’t find it.

 

Changbin does not leave Felix’s side for a second. His mind is screaming at him to protect the angel with everything he’s got, destroy everything that tries to harm him. Beside him, Felix looks nearly at ease, the strain of his neck the only thing that gives him away. His light is slowly draining, and Changbin feels guilt encase his lungs, squeezing so that he cannot breathe. He mustn’t keep the angel around him for much longer, for fear of the cruel death that surely awaits him. Changbin is good for only one thing, and that is killing.

 

With that, he clenches his jaw, his cloak swirling wildly in the wind, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and brings his scythe down into the earth. The ground trembles, shakes, and then rips open, swallowing the smoke and shadows whole, fearful shrieks of the demons echoing loudly as they disappear into the crack, back to whence they came. Changbin watches it all with sorrowful eyes.

 

The devastation brought upon the forest is endless. Blackened, dead trees lean against one another, branches burnt and fallen to the ground like the wings of sinful angels. The smell of smoke and tar is heavy in the air where ichor has lent from those demons’ wounds. Changbin sees it, and he sighs. When he turns to Felix, the boy looks utterly drained, his face pale and hands shaky where they grip his sword.

 

“It is over.” Changbin murmurs. “Go, and rest.”

 

Felix only shakes his head.

 

“I cannot.” A shaky breath. “Something is wrong. I can feel it.”

 

Changbin blinks, then reaches out to touch Felix’s shoulder.

 

“What is it?” He asks, and when he looks into Felix’s eyes, they’re haunted.

 

“In heaven,” The angel says, voice quiet. “Something bad is happening in heaven. I do not know what, but I am afraid.”

 

The words send a shiver down Changbin’s spine. He gazes into Felix’s brown eyes worriedly. His hand is blackened to his knuckles where it rests on the boy’s shoulder.

 

“If you stay with me,” He says softly. “Your light will continue to fade.”

 

He worries for Felix and hates his own curse with a passion.

 

“Then let it fade.” Felix replies. His voice is determined. “We fight together, not alone.”

 

Warmth wells up in Changbin’s chest and nearly swallows the fear he feels, the fear for Felix’s wellbeing. His hand drops to his side.

 

“When I tell you to leave,” He says. “You must do so. I do not want you to get hurt.”

 

Felix only nods.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They sit together under a tree, not far from their makeshift battlefield. Felix lays his head on Changbin’s lap.

 

“Will you tell me about heaven?” Changbin asks. “Will you tell me what it’s like?”

 

His clawed fingers comb gently through the angel’s hair. Felix hums.

 

“It’s beautiful,” He says. “And pure. Everything is gold, and precious. But most of all, His love shines down upon us. It is truly the greatest treasure.”

 

Changbin wonders what it’s like, to be loved. He imagines it would feel like Felix's light, even as it leaves his very being. His fingers tremble where they rest in the angel's hair.

 

"You would stay with me," He wonders out loud. "Even though I am to kill you?"

 

Felix hums, his head laid back, staring up at Changbin's face.

 

"You have given me reason to." He says, simply. A sigh leaves his lips as Changbin's fingers continue their course. They are blackened down to his knuckles, now.

 

"I am not good." Changbin says, his throat closing up. "What are these reasons you speak of?"

 

Felix's small hand reaches up to brush against his cheek, and it takes immense effort not to flinch away. He settles for closing his eyes, and surprises himself by leaning into the touch.

 

"You are kind." Felix murmurs. "You are not who they say you are in heaven. You fight for life, for this world, for what is right."

 

Tears prickle behind Changbin's eyelids.

 

"I would stand beside you as long as it takes."

 

"Takes to what?" The hellspawn whispers, his eyes fluttering open.

 

Felix only smiles.

 

"You are good," He says, eventually. "No matter what you've been told, no matter what you believe. To me, you are good."

 

Changbin bites at his lip with sharp teeth and shakes his head.

 

"I cannot understand how," He says softly. "I cannot understand why."

 

With a final brush against Changbin's cheekbone, Felix's hand lowers to his lap.

 

"Someday, you will. I promise."

 

Maybe, in a world without heaven, and a world without hell, if they were human, maybe this could last. But they are not human, and this is not a fairytale. In Changbin's story, there is no happily ever after. There is only what was, and what is, and in his future, Changbin does not see happiness.

 

A sorrowful sigh falls from his lips. He gazes down at Felix, whose eyes have closed, his chest rising and falling softly beneath the white fabric of his tunic. A phantom brush of fingers caresses Changbin's cheek. He thinks back to the battlefield, to the ichor spilled upon the ground, the stains of black painting the earth, ash and char floating in the air. Something in his chest squeezes painfully tight.

 

"I want to believe you," He whispers, though he knows the angel cannot hear him. He looks at his blackened hands, the claws on his fingers, feels the presence of the twisted horns on his head. He wants to believe Felix, but he cannot.

 

It's not a matter of trust. He trusts Felix with every fibre of his being, and Changbin knows he would not hesitate to die for the boy, though he is unsure of his own level of mortality.

 

Everything dies. Death will make sure of it.

 

Changbin wonders when he will die. Is he cursed to live forever? To breathe death out with every sigh, in order to be able to live himself?

 

He feels empty inside, where he lacks a soul. He is not hungry. He cannot feel hunger anymore, only the twisting of his insides, repulsed by the idea of feeding upon human innocence. He cannot, he will not. He has hurt this world enough.

 

The curve of his horns make shadows cross over Felix's freckled face, a darkness that should not be there. He holds something precious in his hands, a light so pure and strong, and he can see as it dims to something dull, little by little. He runs his tongue over his fangs, only slightly sharper than a human's canine tooth. He is no good.

 

His fingers are covered in black, stains that can never be scrubbed away, a permanent reminder of the murders his very existence commits. Changbin has stayed away from humans for so long, has tried his best to hide his true self, the power that has since been unleashed. He cannot stop, he feels death running through his veins and feeding the part of himself he hates so much. He watches black spread over the earth surrounding him, closes his eyes until he can't see it anymore. The steady hum of draining life is too strong in his ears.

 

If Changbin wasn't cursed, if he was just another being, a mortal, even a human, he would do things differently. He finds himself pondering over these things, over his woes and his tragedies, of all the things he would change. He's done it so many times before, it seems almost natural now.

 

He rests his head against the trunk of the tree they rest beneath, eyes opening and gazing up at the sky. The sun begins to set, and sin settles beneath the Earth's mantle. Changbin feels it crawling across the foundations of everything God has built, he hears it knocking on heaven's gates. And still, it is quiet. The stars come out, twinkling things, small and just out of reach, the moon shows its face to the resting world.

 

Changbin wishes he could rest. He remembers his time in hell, not so far away in his memory. He remembers the endless nights and the dread creeping on his skin at the thought of sleep. No, he cannot rest. The nightmares that await are too much for even him to handle. He is not ashamed to admit that he is afraid.

 

So he spends his time watching the moon, and it dawns upon him that he has never seen it like this before. It looks lonesome, far up in the sky, with no one to talk to. The stars are surrounded by other stars, but the moon only has the moon. Changbin only had himself, until now. Now, he has Felix. If Changbin is the moon, Felix is surely the sun. But even the sun must leave when night comes. Changbin knows that Felix cannot stay.  

 

Even now, even asleep, tired from the previous battle, the angel looks ethereal. His blonde hair nearly glows in the silver light of the moon, his eyelashes still against his freckled cheeks, a perfect picture of innocence. But those eyes have seen battle countless times before, the small hands that rest at Felix’s sides have wielded none other than the archangel Michael’s sword.

 

Felix hasn’t said anything about it, and Changbin hasn’t asked, but the hellspawn would know such an artifact anywhere. He’d thought, before all of this, that it had been lost in the purge, along with the archangel himself. That had been a time of great loss for the heavens. Changbin hadn’t been around for it, but he was created shortly after. A weapon for Lucifer’s use only, capable of wielding the scythe of Death himself. He thinks about them, he and Felix, and he thinks about what an odd pair they make.

 

A reincarnation of an archangel, in theory, and the son of the devil. It's almost amusing. But their history, the disturbing present, makes it hard for Changbin to even think of laughing. He rubs a strand of Felix's hair between his fingers and sighs. The angel stirs in his sleep, his eyelashes fluttering and brows knitting together. His hands fist in the dark fabric of Changbin’s cloak. Even asleep, the blonde is beautiful.

 

There is a certain grace in war. Generally speaking, the battles waged are horrific, unclean, tainted with blood and death and fire and destruction. There's no truth to be told other than the gory details and the pain of loss, the grief that comes after. But on the battlefield, surrounded by smoke and flames and blood, there's a moment that you find yourself in, where everything is quiet. What is cannonfire to that of a feather in the wind? It is nothing. You are nothing. Changbin is nothing. You are to die, just as Changbin is to live. He will always live. Death incarnate does not dare to touch his skin, no, it only trails behind. There is a certain grace in war.

 

When Felix awakes, the sky is grey with the incoming dawn. The sun has not risen, only kisses the horizon with the barest of light. Changbin watches him open his eyes. His lashes flutter against the smooth skin of his cheeks, the freckles that lie there like meteor showers upon the earth. The angel's lips part.

 

"Is it morning?" He asks, and his voice is low with sleep. Changbin smoothes a hand through his blonde hair.

 

"Not quite." A small smile graces his lips. A small price to pay. There is always a price to pay. Felix shifts, hands coming up to rub at his eyes.

 

"You must rest," He says, head rising from Changbin's lap. The hellspawn only shakes his head.

 

"I do not waste my time on sleep," He murmurs, his horns feeling heavy upon his head. "It does not seem to like me very much."

 

Felix stares at him with unreadable eyes. Like always, they are flecked with gold. In Changbin's chest, something flutters.

 

"How could He take something so beautiful," Felix says softly. "And inflict upon it such pain?"

 

A soft breath leaves Changbin's lips.

 

"Everything happens for a reason," Breathe in, death. Breathe out, death. "I am no different."

 

Felix watches him for a moment.

 

"I am not so sure." He says, and his hand reaches out towards Changbin's cheek. The hellspawn does not flinch, even as Felix's small fingers come to cup his face. Changbin cannot read him. He is all light and all glory, all the grace that Changbin lacks. He leans into the gentle touch, that warmth that he so often craves.

 

In that moment, Changbin is fragile. Never before has he felt so at ease. His entire being rests in Felix's hands. Every breath in feels like the utmost softness, a brush of fingers against his skin, flowers in his hair. Every breath out is no longer death, but music. He forgets the ashes that linger in his wake. There is only Felix, now.

 

"You are my world." He finds himself saying. "There is nothing but you."

 

A fragile string wraps around and inside his ribcage, over his horns, his fingertips. It draws him closer to the light that is Felix. The angel's thumb smoothes over his cheekbone, and his eyes become impossibly soft.

 

"There is you." Felix murmurs, in answer. "You are with me, always."

 

Changbin lets it be. Deep down, he knows that he will have to leave, eventually. Now, he lets himself find peace, if only for a moment. His hand settles over Felix's, holding the angel's smaller fingers to his cheek.

 

"I hope that to be true." He says softly.

 

The future does not exist. There is only now. There is only them. An angel and a demon, together, against all odds. Changbin wouldn't have it any other way.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The sky is a gentle blue by the time they make it out of the woods. The sweet scent of peace floats in the breeze, and it tousles Changbin's hair like a gentle hand. A raven caws somewhere behind them, a reminder of his purpose and very being. He pushes those thoughts aside. Felix is beside him, now. There is nothing he cannot do with that strength bestowed upon him, endless light breaking through a shroud of darkness. He stares out upon the land before them.

 

Life flourishes. It shows itself in wildflowers, widespread across hills and planes, in butterflies tickling the wind with their wings. A lone monarch flutters their way and settles upon Changbin's nose. He stares at it in wonder, going cross-eyed to fully capture its beauty. It flits away shortly after, and more follow. They hover around the horns he hates and grace him with their touches.

 

"Why don't they die?" Changbin asks, more to himself than anything else. Beside him, Felix takes his hand.

 

"Maybe you are not so cursed as you once believed." His voice is soft, like the delicate wings that brush against Changbin's skin when a butterfly lands on his outstretched finger. He relishes in its touch. His fingers squeeze Felix's own.

 

"I do not deserve this," Changbin breathes. He turns his head to look into Felix's eyes.

 

"You deserve so much," The angel replies. "Never say that you deserve nothing."

 

A lump grows in Changbin's throat. It sits heavily when he tries to swallow. His eyes are wet. He blinks quickly to make the tears disappear. They spill over anyways. In an instant, Felix is wiping them away.

 

"Do not cry." He says. "I cannot bear to see you cry."

 

"I'm sorry," Changbin whispers, reaching up with his own hands to rub at his eyes. "I'm not- I don't-"

 

Felix takes Changbin's hands away from his face.

 

"Please do not apologize for feeling pain," His eyes are sad. Another apology bubbles up in Changbin's throat. "It is okay to feel. Let yourself feel."

 

He ends up in Felix's arms, clinging to the angel's tunic and burying his face in the crook of Felix's neck. His horns brush against blonde hair. They're a sight to see, beings of the dark and the light, only visible to the flowers and the creatures that live there. Changbin's body shakes with the force of his sobs, and as much as he tries, he can't seem to stop.

 

When he does, when he runs out of tears to cry, he blinks wet lashes against Felix's skin, and pulls away to look at him.

 

"Thank you." He whispers. There is nothing else to say. "Thank you."

 

Felix only smiles, and takes his hand.

 

"Come," The angel says. "The world awaits."

 

The life doesn't last long. A path of death trails after them, flowers wilting in Changbin's footsteps. He tries to pay it no mind, yet the guilt and the fear remain. His fingers curl tighter around Felix's own, and his lungs take in a shaky breath. He's overly aware of the ugly things on his head, his blackened fingers, the claws that grow on their ends. Suddenly he's too big in a world so small and fragile. It goes dark, for a moment, before Changbin realizes that his eyes are being covered by a small hand.

 

"Do not look." Felix murmurs, and it's almost too soft to be heard. "Will you trust me to lead the way?"

 

It occurs to Changbin that Felix could very well be leading him to his own doom.

 

"Always." He breathes, and walks forward without a trace of doubt.

 

He walks in darkness, and it is not strange. He has been here many times before. It is not nearly as bad as those. No, he has Felix beside him. Instead of the cold stone he is used to, warm light encompasses him. He is still. He is safe. Something soft curls around his back, and he ponders over what it might be, for a moment before he realizes. They are feathers that brush against his skin.

 

"Are those… your wings?" He's hesitant to ask. He can almost hear Felix smile.

 

"They are." The angel says. "Would you like to touch them?"

 

Changbin hesitates again, then reaches out to run his fingers fleetingly against the smooth curve of a wing.

 

"How many do you have?" He asks.

 

"Wings?" A nod. "Six sets."

 

An archangel's physique.

 

"Would I be able to see them, should I try?"

 

Felix hums.

 

"No." He says. "Most likely not. If you were to see them, I worry you would surely go blind."

 

His wing moves to bump against Changbin's side.

 

"Even these are too much for a human to capture, let alone a demon."

 

Changbin is silent. He likes the comfortable quiet between them.

 

"And your halo?" He asks. Felix hums again, and the feathers on the tip of his wing brush against Changbin's arm where it hangs at his side.

 

"That, too. I imagine more so than my wings."

 

It's Changbin's turn to hum. The flowers brush against him, but their softness is nothing compared to the silky feeling of Felix's feathers upon his skin.

 

"What does it look like?"

 

Felix chuckles.

 

"Full of questions today, aren't you?"

 

Changbin lets a soft smile curl at the corners of his lips.

 

"Not today, just always." He says, and all his troubles are forgotten. There is something loose in his chest where everything was once tightly bound together. The string has begun to unwind.

 

"Ah." There's a certain softness in Felix's voice. Maybe it's because Changbin's senses are heightened from the lack of sight that he catches it. "Think of the sun, and then think brighter. That is my halo."

 

"Then I think," Changbin murmurs. "That I must have already seen it."

 

If Felix is confused, he does not say so. The presence of his wing against Changbin's frame disappears. Shortly after, his hand leaves the hellspawn's eyes. Changbin blinks a few times to get used to the sunlight. It streams down in rays from between clouds that have gathered. It is warm upon his skin. He stares at the horizon in awe. No longer are there flowers dotting the landscape. Before them is a path, worn down in the dirt with prints from many years worth of feet. When he turns his face, he catches Felix staring at him with a fond look in his eyes. His chest does something strange.

 

There is too much time, yet not enough. He cannot express what he feels in any other way.

 

"Me, too." He says softly. There are no more words to be said.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The path leads to a small town, flanked on nearly all sides by a little forest. The air is thick with the smell of food. Changbin has not eaten a soul for far too long, and he will not start now. Still, his stomach feels empty. Felix doesn't seem to catch on, as he usually does, and Changbin is thankful. His fingers twitch in the angel's hold.

 

In an instant, he appears normal. The horns on top of his head shrink to nothing, the claws on his fingers become filed and clear. But nothing, nothing can erase the black char painted onto his fingers. He feels his chest tighten again. The string threads through any holes and squeezes tight, and it's hard to breathe. And yet, he does not flinch. His hand does not tighten around Felix's own. He remains calm, despite the shooting pain in his ribs. They enter the village.

 

The whole time, Changbin is anxious. His eyes flit around nervously, watching for any signs of death or curse. He does not find it. Felix pays a merchant for two red strings.

 

"What are we doing here?" Changbin asks, voice quiet, when Felix steps forward to tie a string around his pinky finger. "I will only cause death. I will only cause destruction."

 

The thread is tied in a little bow. It rests pretty and red, leftover string dangling, on the first knuckle of his finger. Felix holds out his own.

 

"Will you tie it?" He does not answer Changbin's question. And Changbin does, because he'll do anything and everything for Felix, and he's not sure when that became so. The bow is sloppy and uneven, but even so, Felix smiles.

 

"It's perfect." The angel says, and the wind kisses the tips of Changbin's ears. "You are perfect."

 

Changbin has to hold himself back from disagreeing, but he manages. Instead, he looks away, eyebrows forming a crease in his skin.

 

"I cannot believe you." He whispers. "I'm sorry."

 

Felix slips his hand into Changbin's and links their fingers. The strings intertwine. They're red like the fire and destruction that Changbin has caused, red like a dying sun. The bustle of the town is tuned out by Felix's touch.

 

"Can't you see?" The angel's voice is soft. Soft like his wings and the lingering feeling of his fingers on Changbin's cheek. "You lose what you love. And you love everything."

 

A protest bubbles up in Changbin's chest.

 

"No," He says, and it's almost pleading. "I cannot love. I can't."

 

Felix's eyes are fond.

 

"Do you really believe that?" He asks.

 

And does he? Changbin does not know. It's all he's ever thought. He has no heart. His chest is empty where it should be full. But sometimes it flutters, and sometimes it shakes, and sometimes it falls apart. In this moment, Changbin feels lost. Everything he's ever known is gone, swept out from under his feet. He looks at Felix helplessly, and wishes he was stronger than this.

 

He can't breathe, because if he does then he'll have to settle for believing something new, something unknown, yet it hurts to hold it in. If this were to be his last day of existence, if this were to be the last sight he'd see, he'd willingly hold his lungs underwater, until they fill and fill, because even as he'd go, he wouldn't feel empty. He can't breathe, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

 

"I don't believe that," Felix says, and there's a soft smile on his face. "I have no heart either, and I know that I love."

 

_And what do you love?_

 

Changbin is too afraid to ask.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next time they run into trouble, it has been waiting for them. They find themselves surrounded, and Changbin's form is quick to shift back to normal. His horns appear first, then the claws on the tips of his fingers. He's a splatter of ink on a canvas of light. The angels stare, and he stares back. They're holy in the most intimidating way, with none of the softness that Felix holds. His own light is faded compared to the harsh shine of his people's. Changbin hadn't noticed til now, had only been caught up in his own selfish need for the angel's touch. He lets Felix's hand fall from his grip, guilty, guilty, guilty.

 

"Felix." The lead angel's voice is cold. He is unlike Felix in every way.

 

"Selaphiel." Changbin's angel says, voice nothing other than even.

 

"Is this what you've been doing?" Selaphiel scoffs, gesturing to Changbin dismissively. "Traipsing about with the _son of Lucifer_ and ignoring heaven's calls?"

 

Felix's hands tighten into fists.

 

"Something is deeply wrong in heaven." He says determinedly. "You must believe me, Selaphiel. Things are not right."

 

The angel seems to ponder Felix's words, before he flicks his wrist, and Changbin is surrounded, an angel on both sides. His eyes narrow, and he watches them carefully.

 

"You are a mere reincarnation, Felix." Selaphiel says. "You hold no authority over me."

 

"It is not an order," Felix pleads. "It is a request. Please, believe me."

 

There is no warmth in his fellow angel's eyes.

 

"You will come with me." He says. _"That_ is an order."

 

He steps forward. The scythe's weight is suddenly far more present on Changbin's shoulders. Good things do not last long where he is present. But Felix stands his ground.

 

"No." Changbin opens his palm at his side as Felix speaks. "I will not."

 

Selaphiel moves forward once more.

 

"Then we will take you by force."

 

A crack fills the air, and Changbin swings his scythe. It does only enough to ward the angels on his sides away for a moment, as they back away.

 

"Stand down." Changbin says, grinding out the words as if he's speaking a curse into existence. Selaphiel only laughs.

 

"Child of Lucifer," He smiles, and it is not one of mirth. "You do not even know how to properly wield your own weapon."

 

A movement of his index finger, and Changbin flies backward, back hitting hard against the trunk of a tree. His head smacks against it just as hard. There's a ringing in his ears and fear in his heart as he watches Felix reach for him desperately. The angels close in around his own and something flares in his chest.

 

In an instant, he's back on his feet, his scythe heavy, heavy in his hands. It burns the palms of his hands, or maybe it's his own rage that he cannot seem to quell. He feels his eyes go dark, and it is not against his will.

 

"I said," He snarls. "Stand. Down."

 

Selaphiel sighs.

 

"How bothersome," He gestures with his hand again, and the other two angels close in. "You are like a flea on my back. Luckily, I will not have to squash you myself."

 

Changbin grips the scythe harder, and ducks as a blade manifests just where his head had been.

 

"You will have to try harder than that," His voice is nothing short of a growl. "I am trained to fight your kind before my own."

 

He holds the scythe in one hand and clenches the other, jerking it forward before releasing it, and one of the angels shrieks as it is thrown through the air. The other angel charges forward, blade in hand, and Changbin blocks it with the staff of his scythe, the metal makes not a single dent in the ancient wood. It was made to withstand much more than just the mythril of an angel blade, be it blessed or not.

 

He drives the tip of his gold-weighted boot into the seraph's chest and knocks him backward just as the other manifests behind him. The breath is knocked out of him as he turns, only to have mythril slash through and across his abdomen. Even still, even as Felix cries out, he grits his teeth and drives forward, hand wrapping around his foe's neck and nearly crushing its windpipe.

 

"Do you have a name?" His voice is breathless, as full of rage as it may be. "Or will you die with no one to remember it?"

 

Ichor soaks through his shirt where it's been ripped from the blade, and he pretends that he can't feel the slick black against his skin. The thread around his pinky grounds him. He loosens his grip just enough for the angel to catch his breath.

 

"Jehoel," It gasps, "Please spare me."

 

And if it weren't for the same helplessness Changbin feels reflected in the angel's eyes, he likes to think he could kill it. But he is weak, he has always been weak. Countless hours morphed into years in the Room after failure to kill a lone angel run through his head, and he drops the seraph to the ground, lungs heaving as he steps back. Time is different down in hell. He can feel his skin burning where it tries and fails to heal the wound from Johoel's blade.

 

He turns on his heel just in time to block another blow from the recovering angel, and catches a glimpse of Felix fending off Selaphiel. Something desperate wells up in his chest as he watches the blonde being slowly overpowered. He knocks the staff end of his scythe into the nameless angel's chest, hard, and charges forward.

 

"Felix!" He calls, and his angel vanishes, only to reappear at his side.

 

"Huh." Felix pants, a tired grin stretching across his face. "That comes in handy."

 

Changbin's chest tightens as Selaphiel flies forward, aiming for Felix's exposed neck with his blade. The hellspawn rips Felix's sword out of his hand, despite the intense burn he feels as he wields something holy, slides forward, and buries it into the other archangel's chest on an upward thrust. There's a moment of silence where they lock eyes, and Changbin's mouth drops open in a gasp of near horror.

 

Selaphiel's eyes flicker gold on and off before they go blank. Then they roll back into his head and an unearthly screech tears out of his mouth as cracks of light spread across his chest and crawl up his neck. In an instant, a blast of light so strong that Changbin is momentarily blinded encompasses the clearing they stand in, and the archangel's form is nothing.

 

Michael's sword is heavier than the scythe and scorching in his hand, and Changbin lets it fall to the ground. His palm is raw and red, but he doesn't have it in him to care as he slumps to his knees. The two other angels vanish. It is silent, and yet so loud. He looks up to the sky. It has gone cloudy and gray where there was once sunlight. Tears fall unbidden from his eyes. They are hot against his skin. The open wound in his abdomen burns, and ichor spills out. His hands have never been so stained with death. Warm hands close over his ears, but he hears Felix's voice clear as day.

 

"Do not listen," He breathes. "Do not listen to them. You are not a monster. You are good."

 

A choked noise makes its way up Changbin's throat, ichor bubbling past his lips. His eyes remain open, but his vision is blurred with tears. His mouth tastes like char and ash. He opens it to speak, but can only manage a groan of pain. His head falls forward, and he catches a glimpse of the gaping cut in his skin. Felix's hands fall away to open the cloak where it nearly hides the wound from sight and a gasp slips through his lips.

 

"Changbin," His voice is hushed, but Changbin's name sounds like a prayer on Felix's lips. "Changbin."

 

Felix's hands come to cup his cheeks, and the hellspawn tries to quiet his heaving breaths.

 

"You're okay," The angel says, voice watery. "You're okay."

 

The scythe and Michael's sword lay abandoned on the ground.

 

"Breathe for me, come on," Changbin tries, he really does. "Come on, Changbin."

 

He lives and longs for Felix to speak his name.

 

"Changbin!"

 

A wobbly smile crosses his face, as he lifts his eyes to stare into Felix's own. His lips, he knows, are black with his own lifeforce. His fingers are shaky as they rise to hold onto Felix's where they rest on his face. A gurgling noise leaves his throat.

 

One of Felix's hands leaves his jaw and presses over the wound. Changbin grits his teeth and screams as burning pain shoots through him. Light pulses from Felix's hands, but it isn't soothing, it burns, and Changbin shoves at the angel's fingers to get them away. Choked sobs and ragged breaths leave his lips and they part as another scream slips loose.

 

He's felt pain like this before, he knows. Then, he'd quieted his noises until they sounded like nothing more than his regular even breathing. Now, he can't bear to keep quiet. Something about it being Felix, something about not realizing the good being done for him, something about being ready to die, it makes his mouth refuse to close, it makes his chest ache that much more.

 

"Hold still," Felix whispers, his voice harsh with fear and tears. "You can't die yet. There are lives for you to save."

 

He can't seem to stop screaming. It feels like his body is burning from the inside out, hotter than hellfire, yet colder than ice. His head hangs forward, body curling in on itself in the position he's always taken before, when the pain becomes too much.

 

"I can't heal it all," Felix gasps. "Father, help me. Help me to save him."

 

The tears mix with the ichor in Changbin's mouth and it tastes like pain, it tastes like something broken. He's always been frail, been fragile, is this his breaking point? It can't be. How can one break something that's already broken?

 

Changbin thinks distantly that he might know. Everything seems to shatter at his touch. His fingers hover shakily over where Felix's hand rests on his abdomen. The moment he presses down, his body seizes, head jerking up and eyes opening wide at the intense pain. Another cry falls from his lips. Even so, the burn cools, if only a little. When his eyes shift to watch, he sees a purple glow, the white light Felix emits being calmed by Changbin's own darkness.

 

His body sews itself back together, thread wrapping around his bones and locking them in place. His breathing comes easier, like living, like surviving. All Changbin has done in his life is to survive. He looks back up into Felix's eyes and sees his own exhaustion, his own pain, and something desperate that he cannot name. He crumples forward into the angel's arms.

 

Little sobs leave his lips, but they sound strange to his ears. He can feel the wound closing up, can feel the pain fading. Most of all, he feels Felix's hands on him, gripping him tight.

 

"I thought I lost you." The angel's voice is teary. "Don't you ever do something like that again."

 

Fingers run through his hair and stroke his horns and the touch is nothing short of soothing. His eyes flutter closed, and a wet chuckle leaves his throat.

 

"No promises," He says hoarsely, and sleep comes to him easily.

 

Breathe in, love. Breathe out, love.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all  
> i am in TEARS  
> im so sorry for this  
> like :''''))))  
> your pain is my pain is changbin's pain yknow  
> I PROMISE ILL UPDATE BROKEN COMPASS SOON JUST GIVE ME TIME
> 
> twitter: @zinniachild  
> tumblr: gay-but-woah


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